


Remember Me

by Sunshinesque



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:17:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshinesque/pseuds/Sunshinesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s kind of like, Louis’ nervous about his audition and yeah, that’s out of character for him, but he was in the middle of this rare physiological freak-out and this kid comes in and pees on him and it’s just kind of funny because the kid’s kind of cute and for a weird reason made Louis’ nerves go away. So yeah, he wants to keep talking to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> Or how Louis and Harry came to be.

Louis is a dream, with tan skin and brown hair and huge pupils of cyan that scream youth. He is the vision of fearlessness, personification of confidence, and embodiment of easygoingness. He is the sort of kid that everyone loves and hates in college because he is so sure of himself while everyone else is insecure and undefined. 

Louis isn't shy, and he’s never been nervous for anything in his life, always approaching things with an annoying effortlessness and easy grin. He’d had no shame in trying out for his senior play, or chatting up the occasional bird or lad, or streaking on the golf course on a dare from Stan while wearing bunny ears and a batman cape (though he’d probably have done it without the dare, anyway.)

Louis is the sort of person one doesn't forget. 

He hopes he isn't, too.

Somehow though, its twenty minutes before his audition for The X Factor, and his hands are shaking where they unzip his pants to take a wee, and he’s blinking a lot, and there’s a bead of sweat dripping down his back just as a cold chill crawls up his front. 

Louis wonders why this is happening to him, because he’s cool and calm and collected and not the sort of lad to get worked up over a show that auditions so many people, surely no one will remember himself over the others.

Of course he wants to be remembered, though (that’s why he’s here, after all), and maybe that’s why this is the only moment in his life in which his mind is literally screaming at him to not mess up. Because now, he has to try to not be forgotten, and that’s not something he’s ever had to do before.

He’s been standing at the urinal without even going for at least three minutes before some kid with a curly mop and Aztec scarf bounces silently through the doors to stand at the unit next to his. He looks like a relatively normal kid, smiling and quiet and just sort of happy, but there’s a presence about him that catches Louis so off guard that a strangled noise leaves his throat. 

The curly-haired kid, startled, turns his body just the slightest, and then murmurs in apology when he realizes that some of his wee has splashed on the already grimy floor and onto Louis shoes. But Louis hardly notices that, because he spares a glance up for just a moment, and he sees this kid whose cheeks are red and whose lips are red and whose eyes are like big almonds, apologetic yet still cheerful. He hardly notices the kid stutter out a “Sorry,” because at the same time, Louis’ nerves are fading, and he’s bursting with a “Hi,” and they both look at each other for a second.

“Erm,” Curly-haired boy says, and Louis wants to laugh because for God’s sake, the kid’s just peed on him, and Louis should be disgusted and mad, but he doesn't really mind at all or have the heart to tell him off, and he’s not quite sure why.

“Sorry about that, mate.” The kid says, zipping his jeans. Louis shakes his head.

“S’alright.” He says, and then as an afterthought, “I’m Louis.”

Louis admits, it’s sort of an awkward introduction, but the kid seems to go along with it anyway before he says, “Harry.”

“Cool,” Louis can’t seem to think of anything else to say really, as the two of them go to wash their hands, but he still wants to talk to him.

It’s kind of like, Louis’ nervous about his audition and yeah, that’s out of character for him, but he was in the middle of this rare physiological freak-out and this kid comes in and pees on him and it’s just kind of funny because the kid’s kind of cute and for a weird reason made Louis’ nerves go away. So yeah, he wants to keep talking to him.

“You already auditioned, right?” Louis says, because he thinks that Harry was the kid he heard singing Stevie Wonder through the monitor in the backroom. Harry nods.

“Made it through, yeah,” Harry says, his voice low and slow and gleeful, and Louis likes it, he decides.

“You were good,” Louis says honestly, and the kid blinks at him again, wipes his wet hands on his jeans.

“Thanks.” 

With a parting smile, Harry leaves.

Louis auditions. He sings and smiles and maybe the whole time he’s under the pitch, but the judges like him and he distinctly remembers one of them saying something like, “You’re not someone I’ll easily forget.” And Louis only wants to be remembered, so he takes the ‘yes’s with a heart heavy as lead.

He goes to boot camp weeks later. Harry is there. 

They sing. Dance. Go through the motions with the other finalists. Never together though, no. Harry’s always with some Aiden fellow, and Louis’ got to focus anyway, so it’s not like he even has the time to flirt with Harry (though there is something about that boy that draws him near, and he can’t pinpoint it, and it frustrates him to no end.)

Louis, though a dream himself, knows that this is his dream – the stage, and the lights, and the people. And when he doesn't make it through, his dream breaks, but when he and Harry and three others are called back to the judges, his dream starts to mend itself into hope.

They’re walking through the halls in silence, Louis’ mind running a marathon, when he feels warm breath on his ear.

“I remember you.”

It’s Harry of course, and Louis turns to him, with his brown waves and shapely eyes and red cheeks and Louis says, “I remember you, too.”

Maybe it’s there way of consoling each other, or maybe it was an acknowledgement of sorts, but either way their pinkies are now folded over each others and Louis’ hopeful in more ways than one. 

They make it through as a group. Louis jumps onto Harry. The three other boys wrap their arms around the two of them. Louis’ hope is high, is heart is high, Harry’s hair is brushing again against the nape of his neck, and Louis never wants to forget how this, right here, feels.

The five of them become One Direction. They sing and do interviews and sign autographs. Harry likes to laugh with Louis and whisper to Louis and cuddle with Louis and breathe on Louis’ skin and fold their pinkies together like the first day. Louis just likes Harry. 

They work so hard, hope so hard, grow together and love together, and they aren't a band anymore, they are more.

They don’t win.

They come in third though, and nearly a year later, they’re famous beyond their dreams.

Louis can’t believe it. Still can’t. Still wonders what would have happened if he had tanked his audition. Wonders, more than he’d like to admit, what would have happened if Harry hadn't been there.

Louis noticed right away that there was something about Harry. Something happy and light, like the small breaths fanning over Louis’ neck when Harry falls asleep on him, curls tickling the underside of his chin. Twinkling, like Harry’s green eyes that Louis can feel watching him, even when Harry thinks he’s being discrete. Simple and exquisite, like the nights they stay up talking, all laughs and whispers and secrets. 

They’re in Italy for press one time, and just the two of them are sitting on the roof of their hotel at some ungodly hour in a foreign place that doesn't have paparazzi following them in helicopters everywhere they go. It’s hot, but there’s just enough breeze for them to be sitting comfortably, fruity, fizzy drinks in their hands, grins on their faces, stars above their heads.

“You remembered me,” Louis says after a sip of his raspberry something, and Harry raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“When we were told we were put through.” The corner of Louis’ mouth is tugging downwards in thought. “We were walking through the halls, and you said, ‘I remember you’.”

Harry’s cheeks redden a bit, and he chuckles (but it comes out as a throaty cough). “Yeah.”

Louis looks at him. “Why?”

Harry shrugs. “Because I did.”

Louis considers this. Thinks it through. Rolls his tongue around in his mouth for a moment, puts his drink down, and turns towards Harry.

“I – “ Louis stops himself, because he feels nervous. Nervous, like he did when he auditioned for The X Factor. He hasn't felt nerves like that since that day, because now he’s had Harry with him to keep him calm.

Now he’s having these nerves because of Harry though, and he’s been having these strange Harry Nerves for awhile. But right now, the nerves are at an all time high, because the stars are reflecting in Harry’s green and golden eyes, and his cheeks are red, and his lips are red, and it’s like Louis’ suddenly meeting him for the first time all over again and Jesus Christ, they’re on a rooftop in Italy and they’re living their dream and – 

“ – Harry, I just,” And Louis can’t get the words out, and this ticks something off in Harry’s mind because Louis is always so good with words, so he knows something is a little off.

“Lou, you alright?” Harry says, putting his own drink down and facing the older boy. And Louis’ fine, hell, he’s more than fine, with Harry sitting right there, so close to him, and – 

His Harry Nerves are tingling, prickling his fingertips and sparking his heart, and Louis is going to combust, he thinks. 

“I think I’d remember you, even if I didn't get your name in the loo that day, or,” Louis’ talking so much, his voice fast and breathy, “or even if I never saw you again. Because,” Louis’ running a hand through his hair. 

Louis feels like the eighteen year old boy he was last year, anxious and excited, staring at Harry’s lips, his cheeks that are so, so red. Feeling drawn towards him. And nothing’s changed, really. 

“I don’t think that,” Louis blinks. “I don’t think I could ever not remember you.” Looks up at Harry. “Don’t think I could forget you, even if we weren't put through with the other lads, or either of us made it past boot camp, or.” Swallows. “Even if ever I wanted to.”

Harry looks at him. And Louis is scared because, hell, this is Harry, and there’s always been something about him, and Louis knew it’d always come down to this moment one day, but now that it’s happening he doesn't know if he can handle the feelings clawing at his rib cage, tearing and ripping his lungs so he can’t breath and throat so he can’t talk and brain so he can think of nothing but Harry, Harry, Harry. 

So he kisses him.

Harry’s lips are soft and plump and a bit chapped and the best things Louis’ ever tasted in his life, so much so that he sighs against Harry’s mouth. 

And just like the first time they’d ever met, Louis’ nerves fade away.

Harry leans into Louis, moving his lips against the older boy’s, and Louis thinks he might burst when he feels Harry’s gentle tongue licking across his lower lip. Louis kicks the chair out from beneath him, grabbing Harry’s skull with both his hands and dragging him up so that they’re standing. Harry’s hands grip Louis’ waist, pull him towards the deck wall. Press him against it. He presses kisses on Louis’ forehead, cheeks, nose, eyes, neck, chest. The palms of his hands.

And Louis is barely breathing, can barely move when Harry’s lips are on his again, because there are lights flashing beneath his eyelids and fairies tickling his skin and Harry’s smell and Harry’s curls and Harry’s cheeks and lips and it’s not just something about Harry, it’s everything about Harry, because it’s Harry and Louis and it has been from the start and will be until the end.

**Author's Note:**

> First One Direction story, r&r, thanks!


End file.
